


Over The Edge

by TinkerBella



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:37:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2245890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerBella/pseuds/TinkerBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is for Debbie F because she writes lovely D'Artagnan whump and she totally gets my D'Artagnan SQUEE!  Basically, D'Artagnan falls over a cliff, is injured, and Athos takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Edge

Athos ran as fast as his legs would carry him, but he couldn't catch up to D'Artagnan. The boy was chasing after a killer. The man had set fire to a nearby farm, one of many on his destructive path. They had been following him for two days and had finally caught a break. They came upon him in a tavern but the man had ducked out the back, scattering their horses before taking off on foot. 

 

The killer had stamina and he appeared to have a destination in mind. He made his way swift and steadily upwards towards a bluff that came to an abrupt end. 

 

D'Artagnan ran like the wind, gaining on the killer, making a flying leap that brought them both hard to the ground where they rolled for a bit before jumping to their feet to grapple again. It looked like D'Artagnan was winning. But even as Athos reached them, he cried out in horror as the killer shoved the boy, who stumbled then disappeared. 

 

"NO!" Athos shouted, the cry ripped from his chest even as he raised his gun and fired a bullet directly into the killer's heart. The man dropped like a stone and Athos stepped over his body as he ran to the edge of the cliff, throwing himself down on his stomach, already knowing what he would find. To his surprise, D'Artagnan's body was not crumpled and broken at the bottom, but rather splayed limply about twenty feet down on a wide ledge. "D'Artagnan!" Athos shouted, feeling joy warring with fear. 

 

The boy stirred, moaning softly before going still again, as if he'd heard his name being called but lacked to energy to fully respond. 

 

Athos didn't care. D'Artagnan was still alive and that was all that mattered. That, and finding a way to reach him and bring him back to the top of the bluff. There was no time to waste, so he studied the side of the cliff, wondering if he could simply climb down, but it didn't look feasible. He needed a rope. Dammit, he needed his horse. The only choice he had was to return to the tavern for a rope and to retrieve his horse. 

 

"D'Artagnan," Athos called back down, but the boy didn't stir. Still, he continued to speak to him. "I have to go for a moment. I will be back. I promise you. I will return." With that he rose to his feet and took off running.

 

To his amazement, upon reaching the Tavern, Athos found his and D'Artagnan's horses tied to the hitching post. Bursting through the door, he made his way to the owner. "Do you have rope?" he demanded.

 

"Rope?" the man echoed, looking confused. 

 

"Yes, I need a rope." Athos wanted to grab the man and shake him, but he forced himself to calm down. "My friend fell over the cliff onto a ledge. I need rope to pull him up."

 

The Tavern owner blinked at him owlishly for a moment before turning away and shouting, "Ollie! Fetch me the rope from the barn!"

 

Ollie was a boy of about thirteens years, who shouted back before running out the door. Supposedly to fetch the rope.

 

Athos thought about the other things he would need. "Can you put together some food and a water pouch? I'll also need a bottle of rum and some bandages." He reached into his pocket and pulled out some coin. He dumped them on the counter, not caring that he was paying way too much.

 

"I'll get everything right now," the Tavern owner replied, eyes bulging at the sight of all that coin. He bustled about and in no time he handed Athos a bundle of everything he'd asked for, plus a bottle of wine.

 

"My thanks," Athos replied, happy to see the wine. He headed for his horse just as Ollie came running with the rope. Athos tossed him a Livre before dividing his supplies between his saddle bags and D'Artagnan's. He would bring both horses just to be safe. He coiled the rope on his pummel, grabbed the reins of D'Artagnan's horse, then mounted his own.

 

With a touch of his heels they were off, covering ground quickly. Fear washed over Athos as he neared the bluff. He dismounted, dropped the reins of both horses, knowing they would stay close by, then ran for the cliff edge. Dropping to his stomach, he was relieved to see D'Artagnan was right where he'd left him. But the relief was short lived. The boy was so still and broken looking that Athos feared he was dead. "D'Artagnan!" he shouted. "Can you hear me?"

 

The boy shifted, whimpered, then shifted again. To Athos' great relief he lifted his head for a moment.

 

"D'Artagnan! I'm here. I'm coming down to get you!" Running back to his horse, Athos grabbed the rope and uncoiled it. Then he looked about for a place to anchor it. To his relief there was a tree nearby that would work perfectly. He tied one end around the tree trunk, the other end he wrapped around his own waist. Then, without hesitation, he made his way over the side of the cliff. 

 

Surprisingly he found more toe and finger holds than he had expected, allowing him to quickly make his way down to the ledge. Dropping down next to D'Artagnan, the first thing Athos did was cup the boy's pale face. "D'Artagnan, can you hear me?"

 

"A-Athos," D'Artagnan mumbled, his eyelids fluttered before he opened them completely. But his gaze was unfocused and his eyes soon closed again. 

 

"No...NO! Stay with me!" Athos demanded, as he tapped the boy on the cheek. "I need to know what hurts." 

 

D'Artagnan opened his eyes again, this time with more clarity shining in the dark depths. "Athos," he whispered, his voice hoarse with pain. "Wha' happened?" His words were slurred and he started drifting off again.

 

Athos patted his cheek till he was focused on him once more. "You fell over the cliff but you landed on a ledge. I'm going to bring you back up but I need to know how badly you're hurt. Do you think anything is broken?"

 

"Head...hurts." D'Artagnan lifted one hand, fingers pressing to his temple. He opened his eyes and blinked hard to focus. "You...you're blurry."

 

"But you can see me?" Athos knew that severe head injuries could cause blindness. As carefully as he could he probed along the boy's skull, searching for any lumps or cuts. He found both at the base and winced when D'Artagnan hissed in pain. "Apologies. But I need you to tell me, D'Artagnan. Can you see me?" he asked again.

 

Dark eyes locked on Athos' face for a moment. "I can see you," D'Artagnan whispered. "Two of you."

 

Athos was both relieved and worried. "All right then." He moved his hands over D'Artagnan's limbs. "Can you move your arms and legs?" He watched as D'Artagnan shifted and moved his arms and legs. He was obviously in pain, but at least nothing appeared to be broken. "What about your ribs."

 

"I'm...sore," D'Artagnan replied, making an obvious effort to focus. "But...I don't think anything is broken." That said he made a move to sit up, swallowing a cry as pain rippled through him.

 

"Easy!" Athos gripped him by the shoulders and eased D'Artagnan upright until the boy was resting against him. He could feel the slender body trembling at the effort and he wished Aramis was here. Athos' medical knowledge was limited. He reminded himself that the most important thing in this moment was getting them both off this ledge. Then he could deal with everything else.

 

With D'Artagnan still propped against him, Athos shifted until he could untie the rope from his waist. Once done he eased it around D'Artagnan, making it wider so it would loop under the boy's arms and support his upper body better, rather than pulling on it. He had a plan.

 

Cupping the pale face in both hands, and waiting for the dark eyes to focus on him, Athos asked, "If I prop you up against the wall, can you support yourself while I climb back up? Then I can pull you up."

 

"I can climb," D'Artagnan stated, as he pulled away from Athos and made to rise.

 

"That would help," Athos allowed, not arguing at the moment, because he knew how stubborn the young Gascon could be. That stubborn streak would come in handy right now. "Keep the rope slack while I use it to climb back to the top. When you're ready let me know and I'll guide you up. All right?"

 

D'Artagnan was quiet for a moment, as if considering. He looked up at the rock wall, peering at the top of the bluff edge, before looking at Athos and whispering, "All right." He sounded uncertain, but at the same time fierce determination glowed in the pain-filled eyes. 

 

Athos patted him on the shoulder. "Here goes then." Without hesitation he gripped the rope and made his way topside. It was slow going and much harder going up than it had been coming down, but he made it and crawled up over the lip to lay on the ground for a moment. Swiftly gathering his strength he stood up and moved to the edge, peering over. He saw D'Artagnan looking up at him and felt a surge of hope. They could do this. "Ready?" Athos called over.

 

"Ready," D'Artagnan replied, rising slowly to his feet. With painstaking slowness, he reached for whatever finger and toe-holds he could find and began the arduous climb.

 

"Don't look down and don't stop," Athos cautioned. He had wrapped the rope around his back before gripping it in both hands. As D'Artagnan climbed, he slowly inched his way backward. When he felt the boy pause, Athos dug in his heels and kept pulling. Slowly but surely he gained ground until he saw one of D'Artagnan's hands pop over the edge. Walking his way forward down the line, Athos reached the boy and let go of the rope with one hand to grab D'Artagnan's wrist. Athos could feel the young Musketeer pushing upwards and with a desperate heave backwards, Athos yanked him up onto solid ground.

 

D'Artagnan couldn't hold back a cry of pain and he went limp as he was pulled topside. It took everything he had in him just to breathe. His head was pounding and his lungs felt tight and darkness was swirling over him. He was about to give in to it when warm hands cupped his face and a familiar voice called his name. 

 

Athos was terrified that he had done damage to D'Artagnan as the boy lay limp and deathly pale. He called his name and tapped his cheek and was ready to weep when he suddenly realized dark eyes were staring at him. "You're all right," Athos whispered, feeling a bit light-headed with relief. "You made it."

 

"M'tired," D'Artagnan mumbled.

 

"I know, but you can't sleep just yet." He untied the rope from D'Artagnan then made to scoop him into his arms so he could lay him under the shelter of the nearby tree.

 

But D'Artagnan struggled against him. "Don't!" he protested. "You can't carry me."

 

Athos scowled at him. "Watch me!" He tried again to lift him only to have his hands slapped away.

 

"I can walk!" D'Artagnan insisted, already making the attempt to rise. He managed to get to his feet only for his knees to buckle and he landed on all fours just in time to empty his stomach. After a moment of retching he was able to catch his breath. "S-sorry," he whispered.

 

"No apologies," Athos scolded. He was kneeling beside the boy, rubbing a hand over the lean back in an attempt to ease his discomfort. He was worried though, because he knew that being sick and having blurry vision meant a serious head injury. Once again he wished Aramis was with them. Better yet, he wished they were back at the Garrison with D'Artagnan safely ensconced in his own bed instead of out here in the middle of nowhere.

 

D'Artagnan retched one last time, then he sagged onto his knees looking as if he would keel over at any moment. "Water?" he begged.

 

Athos nodded. "Come sit by the tree and I'll fetch it." He didn't try and carry D'Artagnan again, but he did practically lift the boy to his feet before slinging one arm over his shoulders and wrapping his own arm around the slender waist as he guided him the few feet to the tree. Once he had D'Artagnan settled, he grabbed the waterskin off his saddle. "Just take small sips," Athos cautioned, trying to remember everything Aramis had taught him about caring for a head injury.

 

Having accepted the water skin with shaking hands, D'Artagnan was too busy rinsing and spitting, in an attempt to rid himself of the bitter taste in his mouth, to reply. But, eventually, he did take a few sips before laying his head back against the tree trunk and closing his eyes. "Let me rest a few minutes before we leave," he requested.

 

"I don't think you can ride with your injury," Athos countered. 

 

"I can ride." D'Artagnan had taken Athos' words as a challenge. 

 

In truth, Athos was pleased by the boy's stubborn nature. It would do them in good stead. However, as willing as D'Artagnan was to attempt to ride home, Athos feared that to do so would only make things worse. He had not rescued the boy simply to lose him now. "We will stay here for the night," he said firmly. "If you're feeling better come morning light, then we'll head home." His tone left no room for argument.

 

D'Artagnan opened his eyes and glared at Athos, as if about to argue. Instead he sighed and said softly, "As you wish."

 

"I'll take care of the horses." Rising to his feet, Athos pulled off the saddles, but left the bridles in place. As he worked he suddenly remember having passed nearby a stream when they were chasing the bad guy earlier. The bad guy whose body was where Athos had left it. That was another thing he would take care of. 

 

First things first, Athos found the stream and led the horses to drink. He rushed back to see that D'Artagnan hadn't moved and he took a moment to nudge him back awake. Aramis had always said not to let someone with a bad head injury sleep for long without checking on them. He got a grumpy response from D'Artagnan, but it reassured him enough to drag off the body and dig a shallow grave for now. He made sure it was far from where they were camping.

 

He again checked on D'Artagnan and found the boy staring at him with glazed eyes. "How do you feel?" Athos queried.

 

"Been better," D'Artagnan mumbled. 

 

"Are there still two of me?" Athos hoped not, but he needed to know what he was dealing with.

 

D'Artagnan squinted, then whimpered, then closed his eyes again. In a pitiful whisper he begged, "Could you make the ground stop tilting."

 

Athos was pretty certain that it was a bad sign for the boy to be dizzy simply from sitting. He had other concerns as well. "Will you let me check for other injuries? Just to be safe."

 

"Do as you wish," D'Artagnan replied, his eyes still closed. He was trembling slightly and was still so deathly pale, unlike his usual glowing olive tone. 

 

"Tell me if I hurt you," Athos requested, as he shucked his gloves before removing D'Artagnan's as well. He then removed the boy's weapon's belt and let his hands glide over him, checking for bruising, breaks, cuts and scratches. He found a scrape near the boy's collar bone and he soaked a bandage with Rum to clean it. "This is going to sting," he warned.

 

D'Artagnan didn't even flinch as Athos thoroughly cleaned the deep scratch, making sure infection would not set in. Which was somewhat worrisome. But Athos said nothing as he continued with his task, although he could feel the tension in the slender body, bleeding through the fine trembling. 

 

When he was finally done he patted D'Artagnan on the cheek. "Rest for a bit."

 

"I can't sleep," D'Artagnan replied. "Too dizzy." He shifted as if trying to find a more comfortable position, only to whimper and clasp his head in both hands.

 

"Easy, easy," Athos crooned, pulling him into his embrace. He didn't know how to help but he couldn't bear seeing D'Artagnan suffer so. After a time he realized the boy had relaxed into his embrace. "D'Artagnan?" There was no response and he panicked, shifting so he could grip the young Musketeer's face. "Open your eyes!" he ordered.

 

D'Artagnan tried batting his hand away. "Let me sleep," he begged.

 

Athos heaved a sigh of relief. The boy had merely fallen asleep. "Hang on a moment. Let me grab a blanket." Since it appeared D'Artagnan could find relief in his arms, and holding him offered Athos comfort, he would let him rest upon them. But first he would make a fire, for the night would come soon and bring coolness. He felt D'Artagnan watching him as he gathered tree branches, dug a small pit, started a fire then returned with a blanket.

 

"Can I sleep now?" D'Artagnan asked, as he was shifted back into Athos' embrace.

 

"Yes, sleep," Athos allowed, once he had maneuvered the boy between his legs, the lean back resting against his chest, his chin resting on top of the dark head, the blanket tucked snuggly around them both. "Sweet dreams," Athos beseeched him, not adding that he would be waking him up ever hour or so to check on him. Instead he smiled as he felt D'Artagnan's trembling ease and the lean body relax into him.

 

They passed the night in this fashion, Athos able to breath easier as each hour passed. He'd had the forethought to bring the water skin and the wine bottle beside him, so when D'Artagnan complained of thirst, he was able to help him take a drink. And when Athos felt himself drifting off, he took another swig of wine to ease the dryness of his throat as he regaled D'Artagnan with stories of his youth. Because the young Gascon was sleeping, Athos told him nothing but the truth. 

 

However, D'Artagnan had been drifting in between sleep and wakefulness the entire night, so he heard many of the stories and they helped ease the ache in his head. Come morning light he had fallen into a more restful sleep where he dreamed of Athos playing hide and seek with his Mother, in a colorful garden when he was a boy. Someday he would tease the other man with the memory but, for now, D'Artagnan would simply cherish the fact that Athos had shared it with him, whether he truly intended him to hear it or not.

 

"D'Artagnan?" Athos gently shook the boy awake. He'd been up for over two hours, taking care of the horses and his own needs, along with scattering the fire pit. He'd let the boy sleep for a bit, since it looked like D'Artagnan was finally truly resting. But it was time to go home.

 

"Athos?" D'Artagnan mumbled, blinking hard to bring the other man into focus. He smiled and said, "There's only one of you now."

 

Athos smiled back, pleased. "For that you should be grateful. I dare say having two of me around would be most disconcerting to one and all."

 

D'Artagnan sat up slowly, rubbing at his temples. "I don't think it would be such a bad thing," he countered, rising slowly to his feet. He felt a bit unsteady, but less dizzy, and he said as much.

 

"Do you think you can ride?" Athos was glad to hear that D'Artagnan felt better, but he was still worried. He wouldn't relax until they were back at the Garrison and Aramis could check the boy out.

 

"If we keep it to a walk," D'Artagnan allowed. He moved off to take care of his needs, returning to swallow some water, but he had no interest in the bread and cheese Athos offered. As he moved to mount his horse he thought of something. "What happened to the fire starter?" 

 

Athos felt a stirring of concern. "You don't remember?" 

 

D'Artagnan closed his eyes, searching his memory. "I chased him and we fought."

 

"He pushed you over the edge," Athos interjected. "I shot him then pulled you up." He didn't feel the need to go into full detail at the moment.

 

"I vaguely remember falling," D'Artagnan allowed. "You can tell me the whole story later, when you catch up the others."

 

Athos nodded. "I'll do that. Let's get home." He waited for D'Artagnan to set the pace then rode up beside him. "But let me know if you need to stop for any reason."

 

D'Artagnan started to roll his eyes and thought better of it. "I will, promise. Just please don't fuss over me. I like it about as well as you do."

 

"Point well taken," Athos countered, chuckling softly. They were all very much alike in that regard. Although Aramis didn't mind when there were ladies fussing over him, especially if he was really only minorly injured. 

 

They rode in companionable silence, stopping only once about the halfway point when they came across an Inn. Athos insisted that D'Artagnan rest for a couple of hours, since the boy was sagging over his saddle. D'Artagnan had argued at first, giving in only when his knees buckled and Athos threatened to carry him again. Both slept for a time, sharing a room and a large bed, before hitting the road once more.

 

They made their way back by early evening, Aramis and Porthos coming out to greet them. Porthos took care of their horses, while Athos filled Aramis in on what happened to D'Artagnan. Not long after they were all in the boy's room, Aramis fussing over D'Artagnan despite loud and graphic protests. Then the young Musketeer was tucked into bed, quickly falling asleep despite insisting he was perfectly fine.

 

Athos made himself comfortable in the only chair, telling Aramis and Porthos to leave them be and he would watch over D'Artagnan. Now that he knew the boy would be fine with some rest, he was ready to rest himself. So once Aramis and Porthos had left, Athos checked on D'Artagnan one last time before making himself somewhat comfortable in the chair. He knew he was weary enough to fall asleep standing up if need be. 

 

But as he looked upon D'Artagnan's serene face, Athos found himself telling the young Musketeer more stories about his childhood antics, until his voice gave out and Athos found himself drifting off into a sleep, for once, not burdened by dark dreams.

 

THE END


End file.
